


Ascension

by Ayanon



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Darkfic, F/M, Politics, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-25 17:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13217847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayanon/pseuds/Ayanon
Summary: A kingdom without a proper ruler was doomed to fall. Fortunately mother had taught her well.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

_One. Two. Three. Remember to breathe, Lucette._

 

The carriage hit another stone and Lucette bit back a curse. She would have bruises all over her body tomorrow. Still, they would hurt less than what was about to come. Or what had occurred mere hours ago.

She had laughed in the messenger's face when he had announced Hildyr's death, insisting to see her body with her own eyes. Myth had made an attempt to stop her, but one look from her had been enough to put him in his place.

 

_Hildyr's face was drained of any color by the time they had found her amidst the piles of dead soldiers. Someone had tried to clean her face and rearranged her clothes, as if that made her death any less horrifying. Her hair and dress still were nothing but a tangled mess of dried blood and dirt. Her lifeless eyes looked straight through Lucette, unblinking despite the falling rain. Yet the sole reason Lucette didn't believe this to be just another of Hildyrs schemes was the Tenebrarum's power now pulsing through her veins._

 

The most important lesson life at the royal palace had taught her was that people and allegiances were fickle.

 _I will always be by your side_ , Hildyr had said. _We will rule this kingdom together._

Even Mother had lied.

Lucette had done as told, had waited behind the castle walls as tensions between the races escalated into a war. Waited as her mother fought the very people who had pledged their loyalty to her.

Now Hildyr returned in a coffin, Genaro in a dreamlike state, carried home by his men and more useless than ever.

Her stomach turned again and she gasped for air, digging her nails into the seat.

 

_One. Two. Three._

 

Her only comfort was that no one could see her like this.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Myth was paler than her mother, but he extended his hand towards her as she stepped towards the entrance doors. Lucette didn't take it.

Neither did she pay mind to the tense silence of her servants, making her way towards Genaro's chambers with hurried steps. Lucette might have been Genaro's daughter, but he was not her father, her king, her anything. Still, to the royal court she was the last Britton left, next in line to take the throne. The last thing she wanted to see was his face, now or ever, but she had to. There had to be some hint of what had happened, something that told her just what had occurred. Just whose fault it was.

Two of Alcaster's soldiers were already assigned to guard him. They stiffened as she drew near.

“I wish to see my father. You may leave.”

They hesitated, though neither was confident enough to directly defy her order. Did they expect her to kill the man?

“I will speak to him alone.” She was glad that she sounded more exasperated than tired.

Myth bowed and retreated while the men moved aside to let her pass, having decided that her punishment would be worse than that of their commander.

The moment Lucette touched the handle a surge of magic knocked her off her feet. She let out a choked gasp as vines adorned with long thorns grew from the inside of the bedchamber, sealing Genaro inside.

She bit her tongue to keep from calling for Mother's help. “Guards!”

They scrambled to their feet and unsheathed their swords but didn't move. Lucette gave a quiet hiss.

“Go get Myth!”

One of them hasted down the corridor, the other finally struck at the vines, cutting off two branches. They grew back the second the ends hit the ground. He hit them again, to no avail. The next second he screamed and jumped back as the vines caught fire, almost catching onto his clothes. Myth had appeared with his arms raised and the darkest expression Lucette had ever seen on him.

The stench that filled the air was awful, but not even Myth's magic had stopped the thorns from growing back.

“Who caused this?” She did not care that her voice came out shrill.

“I will find him,” Myth snarled as he sent another spell towards the plants. The two useless soldiers simply watched as the thicket grew back denser with each attack.

Lucette bit her lip until she tasted blood.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Whilst the king slept undisturbed in his bedchamber, protected by thorns and spells, Hildyr's casket was lowered into the cold ground. Mother had given Lucette the best education possible. But no tutor in the world, not even Hildyr herself could have prepared her for this.

More and more dirt landed on top of the ornate wood, making it disappear too slowly and too fast at the same time. The cold that crept up her spine didn't have anything to do with the chilly morning air.

Lucette tore her gaze away, taking the time to look at the few attendants. They stood in silence, thoughts hidden behind solemn faces. Not many visited a funeral for a defamed witch. Those who did were no doubt waiting for a chance to ingratiate themselves with the future queen.

Myth was completely motionless, his face still so pale that he seemed more dead than alive. Alcaster's mouth was set in a firm line, as if Mother had insulted him by dying. Fritz raised his head when he noticed her gaze and returned it with a sad smile. She clutched her coat even tighter.

In that moment she hated them all.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her room still looked the same as it had before she had left. The bed was made with fresh linen, the maids had put a vase with her favorite flowers on the nightstand. Her dolls sat on the shelf. She took them into her hand, stroking lightly over their pretty little faces. When she was young she had told them about her daily activities – her lessons with Mother, the overeager dance instructor, the oh so dumb horses that were more interested in grazing than following her directions. The latter had not changed, as much as she hated to admit, but she had.

It had been a simpler life. She took a deep breath and placed her favorite doll inside a chest. A life that had been buried along with her mother. Lucette swallowed past the lump in her throat. _Lingering in the past makes you weak, Lucette._

The only keepsake Lucette didn't put away was her mother's necklace.

 

For a whole night she stayed awake, shivering and willing herself not to cry. Staring into the darkness she wished to fly away, like the castle's hawks used for the hunt. Escape from the responsibility, the people, the legacy she had to uphold.

But the world outside was no less dangerous. Once a cat sank its claws into a bird's flesh no struggling would save it _. Feathers and wings can be torn out, whether it is close to home or far away_ , her mother would have said.

She blinked away her tears. No, running away was not an option.

As the first rays of sunshine slowly warmed her skin Lucette stopped shaking. The world did not care for her, so she had to. Hildyr had prepared her for this.

She would not fall.

 

 

The maid brushing her hair this morning seemed to have swallowed a frog or something else that prevented her from speaking. Lucette watched her as she put her hair into an elaborate braid, merely daring to throw short glances at her from time to time. She pretended not to notice.

The girl squeaked as she opened the door. Lucette whirled around, raising a shield around her, only to find herself facing Myth.

“Go and tell the other maids to prepare breakfast,” Lucette commanded, and the maid rushed away, hiding her red face. If she heard any rumors about nightly visits by men she would exile both the maid and Myth.

Years ago Lucette had been intimidated by his quiet composure, believed that he was more than just a pawn in mother's game. Somewhere along the way he had stopped to affect her, however, and the man who stood in front of her now seemed to need her help more than she had needed his. He had dark circles around his eyes, his hair was unusually messy and his usual aura of nobility was gone.

“I expect you to have a very good reason for this visit, Myth.”

He bowed. “Alcaster's men spent the whole day trying to destroy the vines. Nothing they or I tried had any lasting effect.”

She had expected as much. Before she could send him away he spoke up again.

“Prin- Your Majesty. I spent the last years as your mother's apprentice, serving her until her death.” He paused before continuing. “Needless to say I will continue to serve you, for as long as I live.”

She did not believe him – she was not Hildyr, and sooner or later Myth would come to the same conclusion – but she could not think of a reason to send him away for now, other than his obscene visit just now.

“Under the condition that you will not visit my quarters at this hour ever again.”

He bowed again, even lower than before.

“I will not disappoint you, Your Majesty.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The nobleman in front of her droned on about the loss of the beloved king Genaro III and queen Hildyr. Mother had introduced him a few years ago as the lord of a village close to the castle, though his name evaded her memory again and again.

She had to acknowledge Myth's talent for arranging festivities. Sounds of lutes and joyous songs filled the great halls, beautiful banners of Angielle's colors moved softly whenever the doors opened for another set of guests. Even the weather seemed brighter than it had been for the last weeks, mocking her foul mood.

Lucette kept a straight face throughout the whole speech, watching the attendees' faces perk up as her mother's name was mentioned. He made no mention of witches, but the covert looks that rested on her spoke louder than words.

They reminded her of the time she had dared to complain about the lords and ladies and their petty squabbles. Mother had given her the faintest of smiles.

_People do not want to hear that they are less intelligent and weaker than you. Display your feelings for all the world to see you and you prove you are as dense as them._

Her words had been worse than a slap in the face.

The noble snapped her out of her thoughts when he bowed before her, took the crown and set it carefully on her head.

Lucette breathed out. For her mother's sake. It was all for her.

She rose with her chin held high. “The war brought great losses with it. I will see that justice is served. Angielle will be rebuilt and rise, even stronger than before. I will honor my mother by ruling this kingdom and ensuring that witches will be treated with the same respect as fairies and humans. No one in Angielle will suffer the fate of my mother and father. I will find the one responsible and punish them for their crimes.”

At least no one had the audacity to gasp in surprise, though she wasn't foolish enough to believe that her guests wouldn't gossip. The common folk had already found a name for Genaro's curse - the evil witch's last wish. Part of her wanted to believe it.

She raised an eyebrow at the speaker from before, who hastily raised his voice again.

“I hereby crown Lucette Riella Britton, First of her name, as the High Queen of Angielle. Long live the Queen.”

The sound of heavy bells rang in hear ears, as did the cheering of the crowd. She wanted to cover her ears. Fritz looked at her with sad eyes as if she had broken a promise she had never even made. It made her stomach clench. Myth regarded her with a glint in his eye that had been absent before, though she was unsure if it was a good sign.

“Hildyr would have been pleased to see you like this,” he said as she descended the steps.

Alcaster approached her as well, congratulating her in the name of the whole order. After him came several lords and ladies, all dressed in colors as if trying to rival the shining throne room itself, all acting like this was the happiest day of their lives. Someone even had sent messengers from Brugantia. Everyone had a wish, some important matter to discuss. It didn't take long for her to desperately start thinking of reasons to excuse herself.

Just as she couldn't take it any more Fritz appeared, finally keeping the guests away with a smile and a firm hand on his sword's hilt.

Lucette took her chance to go back to watching the spectacle from her throne. Sooner or later someone would betray her, and she would be ready.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Myth had told her about the noble. His wealth had apparently not been enough to satisfy him, so he had used the war and its resulting chaos for his gain. He was no important figure for her court.

“That was when he decided to block the road leading to Northon, exacting road duty from every traveler wanting to cross the bridge. Those who didn't comply were thrown off the bridge, occasionally with a rope around their neck.”

This would be easy. Lucette leaned forward.

“How many coins does your treasury have, Sir Ivon?”

The man in front of her bowed, stiff as a pile of wood, and stared at his bound hands. He fumbled with his words, his royal status all but forgotten. “I don't own much, Your Majesty. Most of it was for-”

“I do not care what you used it for. I care about serving justice.”

It would have been easier to curse him, but she had no interest in proving the distrustful lords right. She laid a finger on her chin, pretending to consider the punishment.

“You will return to your post, Sir Ivon, but not before you haven't taken half of your coins from your treasury and handed them out to the people of Northon. I'm sure they will find better use for them than you and your lackeys. Remember to return whatever you took from the poor sods you'd stolen from, should you meet them again.”

Ivon opened his mouth to protest, but Lucette waved her hand to silence him.

“Sirrah.”

Two of Alcaster's men grabbed the sputtering lord to escort him out of the room.

Alcaster nodded and bowed. She took note of the barely suppressed smirk on his face. He hated weakness as much as her.

She could not stop the smile from spreading across her face. Hildyr would have been proud.

This was only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing: I am not claiming to be perfectly historically accurate. I make some stuff up as I go.

 

She would fire the maid who had chosen her dress for the evening.

It was no doubt a pleasure to look at, but the amount of fabric needed for the frills made it heavier than a dress made for dancing had any right to be. Lucette shifted her weight to her right leg. Her left had started to go numb for the third time.

Mother would have given her a detached half-smile and mentioned that appearances should never go over practicality.

The dumb girl also had managed to tie her corset too tightly. The first two maids had at least been mindful enough to assume that she needed air. Lucette hadn't noticed just how tight it was until she had taken her place at the end of the dining table, feeling not even the least bit hungry while her guests had stuffed their mouths.

 

Common servants could be – and were – replaced. As were nobles, no matter how much coin they hid behind. Unless they played a crucial role she could get rid of them all.

Those who were too important roamed about the great hall at this very moment.

 

Lucette had chosen her favorite songs to be played, but not even the familiar tunes could make the occasion more bearable.

Setting new taxes and going over the documents and finances their house held had not been enjoyable either. Starting the repairs and calming down the ministers her mother had chosen before her death had been pressing matters, however.

Yet Alcaster and his war council didn't expect her to smile or dance – unlike ladies who hoped they could gain the Queen's favor. The most delusional ones were no doubt aiming for friendship.

 

“Queen Lucette!”

 

A pompous wig rose above the crowd near Lucette, heralding another conversation about the good food and lovely decoration followed by vague hints of being in need of money.

Lady Frey's perfume seemed to follow her, engulfing Lucette and her followers in a cloud of roses and something that had died a month ago. Lucette had successfully avoided her for the past hour, but now she was trapped between the dining table and an expensive vase.

 

“It is an honor to have been invited, Your Majesty.”

 

The lady bowed with a broad smile and shining eyes. Her dress looked less elegant than Lucette's but a lot more comfortable. Of course; she needed enough air to chat with everyone unfortunate enough to come within reach.

Lucette would ask one of her servants if anyone had tried to bribe them for information once this was over. Maybe she would slip some truth potion into their food beforehand. One could never be sure enough.

 

“Oh, I absolutely love the songs you have chosen for today! I am correct to believe it was you, no? Say, would you mind if I asked one of your bards to play at a wedding of a dear cousin of mine?”

 

If Lucette didn't get some fresh air soon the woman would be charged with intentionally asphyxiating the queen. Judging by the gap that had formed around Lady Frey and the other ladies she was not the only one in need of air.

 

“I would not, Lady Frey. Since these songs are so delightful I suggest that we dance.”

Lucette didn't wait for an answer. She spun on her heels and walked as quickly as she dared across the room. She closed her eyes to escape the glances following her, but she could hear the shuffling and rustling and excited voices whispering _the queen is dancing_.

 

 

_One. Two. Three._

 

At least her dancing lessons paid off. Her body moved on its own, always in time with the music.

 

_One. Two. Three._

 

She fixed her gaze on the tapestry showing Genaro, Hildyr and her, watching her with impervious expressions.

Someone left to her stumbled, a few people laughed. She just kept on skipping across the floor.

 

Applause came from somewhere behind her, or in front of her; she didn't know.

A girl collided with her side but jumped back when she recognized Lucette. Her friend dragged the shocked girl back by the arm, casting Lucette an apologetic smile. She was too tired to care.

 

Her dress was too heavy. The voices were too loud. The air was too thick. And her mother would never walk these halls again. Hildyr's portrait seemed to twist into a mocking smile.

 

Lucette was about to faint.

Her mouth was too dry to speak, so she simply left the crowd behind and made her way to the balcony. From the corner of her eye she spotted Myth and hurried her steps towards the exit.

 

The evening was chilly, but after the air and atmosphere of the throne room it came as a blessing. She leaned onto the stone railing, putting her weight onto her hands and took a deep breath.

A queen did not cry, especially not in front of people.

 

“Queen Lucette.”

 

Lucette did not raise her head.

 

“Queen Lucette.”

 

As if ignorant to the fact that Lucette could have her arrested or killed if she'd been inclined to, the newcomer continued to speak.

“I am Elis, and I come to you on behalf of Angielle's witches.”

 

At that Lucette huffed and turned to look at the woman. She was even shorter than her, a few years older than her at best. Still, too old to waltz in and claim to be the spokesperson of witches, of all things.

 

“And why have I, the bearer of the Tenebrarum, never heard of you before, Elis? Do you take me for a fool?”

 

The woman's eyes grew wide. “O-of course not. I apologize. I- Sir Myth allowed me to- I thought–” she shook her head as if her own words had confused her.

Whoever had chosen this stuttering mess as their leader must have been mad or desperate.

Myth would hear about this, no matter how he was involved.

 

“It might be rude of me to address this so soon after your mother's death, but–”

 

“Get to the point,” Lucette snapped. If Elis did not stop her fidgeting Lucette would make Alcaster cut off her hands. If she mentioned Mother again she would throw her off the balcony herself.

 

“There were talks about a school. For witches, I mean. Before the war.”

 

“And why do _you_ care?” Lucette did not even try to hide her annoyance. The evening had tried her patience and she was utterly sick of exchanging pleasantries. Instead she looked over Elis' shoulder, but no one else had come. By now she almost wished for Lady Frey to return.

 

“I am a witch. The mansion Your Majesty wanted to rebuild–”

 

“Will rebuild,” Lucette intercepted.

 

“W _ill_ , of course,” Elis hastily corrected, giving her another awkward smile, “it belongs to my family.”

 

Elis' lips twitched and she lowered her head. When she raised it again tears were streaming down her face. Lucette could only stare.

 

“It should have been my mother who attended the gathering. She- she died in the war, so I am here instead.”

 

_What do I care?_ Lucette wanted to ask, but the words would not come out. This entire display was ridiculous. Mother would have turned all of them into frogs. Mother never would have made a mistake like this.

 

The silence between them seemed to last an eternity.

 

Finally Elis pressed her palms to her forehead and gave a shaky laugh. “I fear I failed at making a good impression.”

 

Lucette didn't deign her an answer.

 

“We had been in the process of making concrete plans and asking witches who would teach, but... well. I realized that the war would not be kind to our resources, so I came to tell you that I will entrust it to Your Majesty as a gift.”

The last sentence sounded like Elis had memorized and practiced saying it before. It was the first positive thing she had heard this evening. Too good to be true.

 

“Why?” Lucette asked.

 

Elis folded her hands again, but this time she appeared determined. Serious. “I will finish the work my mother started.”

 

Not yours, mine, Lucette thought, but she nodded all the same. Idealism would not get her far, but a gift was a gift. Better to take it than wait for the witch to change her mind.

“Then I will expect signed documents and previous letters as evidence, Elis. You may leave until then.”

 

“I apologize. I will disclose our letters as quickly as possible. It was foolish of me to assume – I... I will retreat for now. Please enjoy this evening, Your Majesty.”

 

Lucette only nodded, too tired to laugh. She stayed behind as Elis headed towards the hall.

 

The woman lacked any sense of tact and her brazenness bordered on stupidity – if her outburst had been honest. Still – at last Lucette had met someone with actual plans in her interest, if only on the surface.

There was another issue. Alcaster and his men kept any potential human threats at bay, but if Elis got this close without Lucette's knowledge other witches could, too.

This moment of weakness could have costed her life.

 

She would have to stay vigilant.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“We were stationed at the outpost near Rostfort. My men and I fought bravely, Your Majesty. Lost two men, but we kept fighting. Saved the villagers from quite a bit of trouble.”

 

The weasel-faced knight kneeling in front of her recounted his tale of heroism, just like twenty soldiers had in the past week alone. Lucette usually concerned herself with more important matters than self-proclaimed heroes asking for money. Fortunately for Sir Wysell Alcaster trusted him.

So would she, for now.

 

“Injuries are mostly healed, though my knee hurts,” the knight said as he stood and patted his right shin guard. The metal was scratched and uneven, but seemed recently polished. At least he tried to leave a good impression. “Might be because of my age, though.”

Or not.

 

“Yeah, some of us are fine,” another man chimed in. Wysell had introduced him as Simon. He was much younger than Wysell, likely his squire. “But not everyone. The king is sick, too, who knows why. But he held us in high regard. We did the same for him. We would stop at nothing if it kept the kingdom safe.”

His voice had an obvious edge to it, but she had heard this thinly veiled slight too often to care any more. She raised a brow in response and leaned on the armrest of her throne. “Be careful, Sir, or your words might be taken for a threat.”

 

The two knights positioned next to the door came alive, shifting so that their armor made enough noise to remind her guests of their presence. The female guard glared at Simon like she was ready to charge any moment.

Sir Wysell cursed under his breath and shot the boy a stern look. “You are talking to the queen we serve, so shut your darned mouth.” To her he said, “I apologize, Your Majesty. He's not the brightest. Still have to knock some sense and manners into him.”

The boy's ears turned red as he glared at a spot on the ground, though he did not look ready to give in.

 

Lucette had no time for an oncoming argument, so she spoke again. “If my father and Alcaster trust you, then so will I.”

More than one set of eyes stared at her. She simply continued, “You will travel to Bellfort and act as my messenger until your injuries are fully healed. After that we will see how well you completed your tasks.”

 

Wysell bowed three times. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

 

Lucette had considered sending birds to deliver messages, but in the end she had decided against it. While they couldn't betray her, they could die on the way – more easily than a well-trained knight with some amount of influence. The dimwit squire with his anti-witch agenda was bothersome, but she could still punish him if Wysell couldn't rein him in.

 

“Myth will hand you the letters and message I want to be delivered. You are dismissed for now.”

 

The older knight gave her an unreasonably wide smile and patted Simon's shoulder as he dragged him gently towards the exit.

 

“And Sir Simon,” she added, “you might do well to remember that it was a witch who granted you mercy.”

 

Simon mumbled something that sounded like something akin to “yes, sorry” and tagged after Wysell.

As soon as the door fell shut Lucette turned her attention to the two knights.

“I see Alcaster already assigned you to your new posts,” Lucette said as she motioned for them to come closer. “He informed me that you are his best guards.”

As mother's had died along with her.

“You will be my personal guards and stay at my side unless I tell you otherwise. That task should be clear enough.”

 

Garlan Belrott straightened his back and nodded firmly. Jurien Valientegripped the hilt of her sword, raising her head ever so slightly.

 

Lucette suppressed a smile. “I trust that you will handle your duties to the best of your ability.”

 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jurien said, raising her fist towards her chest.

 

As both of them bowed Garlan glimpsed at Jurien. They would work perfectly together.

Most importantly, as long as she stayed so would he.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_Cast your spells until it becomes as easy as dancing. As easy as breathing._

 

 

Lucette's barrier hissed as it blocked the fourth spell in a row, sending it straight into the ground.

She raised her right arm to create a force shield and sent it towards Myth. He had to jump back to counter it with his own.

 

Mother had been an unparalleled teacher; nevertheless Myth turned out to be a surprisingly capable training partner. They had learned together on several occasions, though mother had been quick to send him away once they were done. She couldn't remember whether she had been sad about it or not.

 

In spite of herself Lucette's glance wandered to the spot Fritz would have been standing at. A week ago he had vanished without so much as a trace. Not even Alcaster could tell her why his son had left or where he had gone.

In the past year that he had been assigned to her he would watch from the garden's corner as she trained, even suggested to help her train. She had always refused. _I have no need for your assistance, Sir Fritzgerald,_ she had said time and again.

It shouldn't have hurt to find him gone.

 

Another spell from Myth rushed past, barely missing her right ear. Lucette gasped as Myth stared back at her with wide eyes. He quickly recovered, however, straightening his posture and pointing towards the water fountain.

“I suggest we take a short break, if Your Majesty allows. The past days have been busy and we should not overexert ourselves.”

 

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Mother would have scolded us for stopping this soon.”

 

Still, she let her arms fall to her side. No one but them visited the garden this early in the morning, only a few servants hurried along the gallery on the upper floor.

Myth followed her as she sat on the edge of the palace fountain, facing away from the abandoned post.

Lucette dipped her hands into the water and stretched her fingers, ignoring the biting cold.

“You should have told me sooner about the witch. Elis.”

 

Myth furrowed his brows for a moment but nodded. “I didn't expect her to speak to you alone. I had heard about her replacing her mother as the head of the house, but I expected her to have better manners than that.”

 

Lucette scoffed. “If she didn't own that much land I would have sent her flying off the balcony. Besides - we need more measures to fortify the castle against magic. Not just for myself, but whoever is inside.”

 

Myth raised a finger to his lips and bit down on his nail, seemingly lost in thought. Then he nodded again. “The guards need to watch out for signs of magic. I will tell Alcaster as soon as possible.”

 

He always knew she was ordering him without her saying it outright, and it was oddly relieving. He hadn't complained about the tasks so far; if anything he had welcomed the work.

 

“We might as well put empty armor in their places, with how well they have worked so far,” she said.

 

Myth didn't ask what she was talking about.

The water swirled around her hand, glowing faintly as it froze, the ice slowly spreading out across the surface.

“I visited Genaro's chamber this morning. They finally admitted that force was not getting them anywhere. The fairy tales were no help, either.”

 

Lucette narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you expect? If some witch had put a curse on father I would have broken it long ago.”

 

However useless he was.

 

“That leaves few options,” Myth said, studying the patterns her spell formed on the ice. “The likeliest would be that a fairy protects him.”

 

“That would not have stopped Mother.”

 

“Nothing would have,” Myth agreed.

 

Then he looked at her – or through her, she couldn't tell – in the hope of finding someone she was not. He was too close.

She rose, maybe a bit too quickly, and brushed over her dress.

 

“We have wasted enough time.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

One evening Myth presented her the newest addition to the night watch. He called him Varg, her new truly loyal guardian. He supposedly knew enough about magic to detect it early. Not only that, but he was also able to stand his ground against most combatants.

Lucette examined the newcomer. The young man was dressed mostly in dark tones, wearing a long black cape along with a rather silly mask and a cane. What stood out the most however was the lack of armor.

She was about to dismiss him when Varg swiftly stepped forward and bowed. “If you'll allow me, Your Majesty, I'd like to prove that your adviser isn't lying.” He raised his head and gave her a smirk, ignoring Myth's surprised scoff.

Lucette's first instinct was to strike him for daring to approach her like that, to _look_ at her like that.

His eyes reminded her of Fritz of all people, despite the lack of all warmth.

She could not deny his request.

 

 

At the end of the next tournament he would get his opportunity to show his skills in combat.

 

 

The central role played the jousts, mostly meant to entertain the audience, less to actually harm the participants. Mother had never thought much of them, but Lucette had to admit that she found these occasions exciting. The crowds of people had scared her, but she had liked to watch the falconers handle the raptors, wondering what it was like to fly. Mother had laughed at her.

Even now she enjoyed watching them catch their prey, usually smaller birds. Mother might have thought it foolish, but they were not that different from humans.

 

Compared to past events this one was modest, but tournaments were popular enough to be supported by nobles and their followers.

The knights carried their coat of arms on their shields, every design unique to them. Even their horses wore colorful barding, some so striking that she wondered if they had been made out of old ballgowns. Or would be made into ballgowns, if certain ladies had any say in it.

 

Lady Frey had joined the occasion as well, this time smelling less like something dead, more like something roasted. “Oh, I love the jousts!” she said, fixing a loose strand of hair. “Say, Your Majesty, who will win?”

Lucette spotted several familiar faces among the participants, including Sir Wysell and his underling. Quite a few members of the Order of Caldira were participating. The only one missing was Alcaster himself, who had not yet returned from a meeting with a messenger from Whiteridge.

Lucette shrugged. “The best.”

 

Three days went by in a blur.

 

Surprisingly it was Sir Wysell who won every joust. He grinned and waved at the cheering audience after each fight, the injuries he had complained about mere weeks ago seemingly forgotten. Even Sir Simon ended up as a victor of two fights, though he got knocked off his horse in the third.

 

At dusk the only event left was melee on foot – a challenge to arms.

 

Lucette descended the steps of her tribune to greet and congratulate the knight personally, nodding to Alcaster as she passed him. Whatever the messenger had wanted, it seemed to have been resolved.

 

Sir Wysell bowed as far as his armor let him. “Your Majesty.”

“I see your injuries are healed,” Lucette said, watching as he put on his armored gloves.

“Feeling much better already. Honored Your Majesty cares.” He knocked on his armor once, inclined his head and gave her a small smile. “This kept me safe when I fought for the king. Friendly competition like this won't kill me.”

In younger years he must have charmed his way into quite a few hearts, weasel-face or no.

“Good luck, Sir Wysell.”

 

“He'll need it,” someone behind him said. Sir Wysell turned around to find himself facing Varg.

 

“Who are you?” Sir Wysell wore an expression of genuine confusion. Another knight scoffed.

 

“Well then,” Varg said, pulling off his gloves and waving them around, “let's start this little game.” He threw them into the dirt. “I challenge you to fight me. ”

The people around him fell silent for a moment.

 

“Don't you want armor, boy?”

“I don't need it, but thanks for asking,” Varg answered, the same easy smile on his lips that he had worn when meeting her.

Wysell huffed. ”This isn't something to die for.” The confusion had given way to suspicion. If it hadn't been for Myth's smirk Lucette would have felt the same. The tournament weapons were blunt, but Varg did not look like he was dressed for the occasion.

Sir Simon crossed his arms. “You're an idiot.”

 

Varg simply marched past them onto the field, unfastened his necktie and set it on top of the barrier that had been used in the jousts. “Then let us fight for this. I will defend the tie from all attackers until one gets it or I am the only one left standing.” His smile became decidedly more crooked. “For your sake I'd suggest we start the fight before night falls.”

 

“Can he just make up his own rules?” Lady Frey whispered, though she sounded more excited than indignant.

 

Wysell cast a questioning glance toward her tribune, apparently waiting for someone to interfere. No one did.

He let out a long sigh. “If you insist,” he finally gave in and followed.

 

By now the sun was almost gone, the only source of light were the torches set along the arena.

Two women a row in front of Lucette rose from their seats, apparently not willing to observe whatever was about to happen. Even Lady Frey stopped chatting. The peasants on the other side of the field began murmuring, however; some even cheered for the newcomer.

This would be entertaining.

 

Lucette motioned for Alcaster to talk. Even when he wasn't in full gear he commanded respect, and when he rose to speak everyone turned their heads. “Varg belongs to the queen's allies, so you can forfeit or accept his challenge.”

One knight took off his helmet, shook his head and left. One of Alcaster's men, Sir Wysell and Sir Simon stayed, eyeing each other as if they were about to fight to the death.

Alcaster continued, “You have heard the conditions for the fight. Hits to the head or groin are not allowed. If you take off your helmet you accept defeat and will not be attacked. So start.”

 

Varg twirled his cane again and bowed to the audience, but his eyes didn't rest on her. Lucette followed his glance to her right where Alcaster was standing.

Then the moment was over, and the men on the field set into motion.

 

Alcaster's knight made the first move, swinging his sword in a high bow. Varg dodged and jumped over the barrier. He had just crossed it as the sword's blade lodged itself into the wood.

The knight cursed, pulling on the hilt, but by then it was too late – Varg had turned on his heel, ducked under the barrier and kicked him in the shin. Alcaster grunted as the man fell backwards.

 

Varg let go of his cane, following the fallen knight with a dive as the next sword came down at him, this time from Sir Simon.

“Stop running!” Simon shouted, then hasted around the barrier to follow him.

 

“The necktie, you dimwit!” Sir Wysell called as he threw his shield away and ran towards the cloth, then ducked as a sword came flying. He stumbled, only catching himself in the last second. He gritted his teeth as he held his right knee and looked up.

 

Varg had thrown the fallen man's weapon and now grabbed his cane again, grinning like a maniac as he sprinted past his opponents. He lunged for his own tie, holding it up and daring to give a mock bow.

 

Wysell cursed. “Stop fooling around!”

 

Lucette wasn't sure who he was talking to, but it was Varg who answered.

“Sure.”

The fires around him flickered. Then the shadows swallowed him.

 

“What?” Simon asked, raising his sword and staring at the spot Varg had been standing at. He spun, clutching his hilt even tighter. “Fights are not supposed to go like this!”

 

“Witch magic,” someone hissed.

“You aren't paying attention,” Lady Frey murmured.

 

They almost jumped when Sir Simon yelled. Varg tackled him from behind and Simon fell face first into the dirt, Varg rolled over him and swung his cane sideways, blocking a blow from Ser Wysell just in time. Varg made a sound that sounded like a gasp and a laugh at once.

This was no longer a mock fight.

Wysell didn't hesitate, thrusting his sword forward, but instead of stepping back Varg met him, using the end of his cane to glide along the blade, closing the distance.

 

It happened before Lucette could react.

 

Varg grabbed Wysell's right hand and jumped forward, using the momentum to ram his foot into the inner side of Wysell's shin.

Sir Wysell screamed.

 

Several people gasped, some covered their eyes. A woman behind Lucette fainted.

 

“Enough!” Lucette called.

 

Varg's cane hovered inches before Sir Wysell's terrified face. He didn't pull back immediately, but just as Lucette moved to do something, _anything_ , Varg rested the cane on his shoulder, looking at Wysell as if he merely was mildly interesting pottery.

“It seems I won,” he said.

Myth looked as if he was about to curse him, but Lucette raised her hand. Whatever ways Myth had to make Varg obey, she didn't need them. Not for now. She did not need to use magic in order to control people.

 

“Enough. Stand up, both of you,” Lucette ordered.

 

The man's face twisted in pain as Varg pulled him up, with moderate success, as he sank right back to the ground. Varg lifted his eyebrows.

 

“My leg is broken, you cad,” he barked at Varg. “Hand me my shield.”

 

Varg did as told, even extending his arm towards Wysell, but the knight ignored him, hissing as he braced himself on his shield. A red handprint stained Sir Wysell's sigil.

 

“As long as he decimates the number of actual enemies he can stay,” she said, quiet enough that only those closest to her could understand. “Sir Alcaster, I leave the rest to your judgment.”

 

Alcaster nodded, then made his way down to the two combatants. He shared an icy look with Varg and put his hand onto Sir Wysell's shield as he spoke. “Varg is the winner of this encounter but will be banned for breaking the rules. Sir Wysell won every other battle, so I declare him as the winner of the tournament.”

A short silence followed as people stared at the men on the ground. Lucette watched their expressions, some of them confused, some frightened, some excited. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. Some would use this accident to blame witches. She wondered if she could erase their memories.

She shook her head. No. No, she would not do that. There were too many people.

When no one made a move she sighed, stood and started clapping. The audience followed suit.

 

Neither of the two men seemed to care much for the applause and rekindled excitement around them. Wysell said nothing. He only clutched his shield and waited for his squire and a doctor to arrive.

Varg crossed his arms behind his back, raising his head to look up at the stars as if he had no reason to concern himself with the festivities.

 

Lucette beckoned for him to follow, away from the crowd that now gathered at the edge of the battle ground.

 

“So,” he said once they were far enough, “did I convince Your Majesty to keep me as her guard dog?”

 

She glared at him for that. “The day you prove to be useless or turn against us I will personally make sure your punishment will be worse than a broken leg.”

 

Varg only shrugged. “I am bound by my queen's will, am I not?”

 

“Also,” Lucette said, “I want to see your weapon.”

His mouth twitched as if he had another snide remark on his tongue, but he was wise enough to give in.

The cane was heavier than she had expected, its wolf-shaped head shimmered in the dim light of the torches. Her hands traveled further down the handle and she felt something wet. Varg's eyes narrowed.

He had broken Sir Wysell's leg, not cut it. The weapons should have been blunt.

 

“Which one of them was it?” she asked.

 

“What if it was none of them?”

 

“Tell me!” she snapped.

 

He hesitated, but when she met his gaze his eyes weren't as cold or mocking as usual. His lips moved to form a detached smile. “Let's say it was my punishment for not following orders.”

 

Myth and Alcaster were watching them, as were the spectators in a polite distance. She would have to return to avoid looking even more suspicious. Cursing Varg in front of them was not advisable, either.

 

“We will talk later,” she said. “In the meantime get your hand treated– and choose some proper armor.”

 

He turned to leave and she let him go.

 

 

Mother would have disapproved. _People only hurt you._ But Varg was not human. He was a wolf.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the worst writer's block I've ever had it's finally here.
> 
> I decided to split the planned chapter in two as it would have had more than 7000 words. In other words: the next chapters will arrive soon, and more stuff will happen. And don't worry, the characters from the original game are just as important as the characters I introduce for plot related reasons.
> 
>  
> 
> Please tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

It started three months after her mother's death.

 

In the beginning it was nothing more than a dull feeling in her chest, numbed by her loss, and she pushed it away each morning as part of her routine. After a while it got clearer, sharper, and it refused to disappear.

 

Soon after the voices followed – that's what she called them, even though they weren't clear thoughts she could understand. They came and went along with the emotions, telling stories of their own without ever using words. There were traces of memories, mostly from the war and its repercussions, along with places and people she didn't recognize.

The witches' fear and hatred had finally wormed their way into her heart.

Mother had told her to embrace it, that these emotions were hers to control, and so she tried. She tried, pushed and pulled at the feelings and thoughts until she could soften the noise.

  


* * *

  


“And then– then my lord's... Garments were gone.”

The young woman chewed on her lip, and despite her carefully done makeup her cheeks had turned a bright red. Still, she held Lucette's gaze and continued, “surely you understand why my lord chose not to appear in person. He sends his apologies and thanks you for your generosity in advance.”

 

Lucette resisted the impulse to groan.

The doors had barely been opened for visitors this morning and she already had enough. Days like this rarely turned out to be anything but ridiculous. A woman had asked for her blessing for a war horse named in her honor. One man accused another of creating vulgar shrubbery in his garden.

Jurien had kept a straight face throughout all of it, but Garlan looked like he would burst into laughter any second.

 

“And you didn't do anything to break the curse yourself?”

 

“Oh, but we did, Your Majesty! At first we didn’t know it was the star money curse, so we gave him every piece of clothing we could find. But everything just disappeared once he touched it. We even used old fabric and socks. Then he told us to, ah, throw gold coins at him–“ she was cut off by a short guffaw that sounded through the hall, followed by something hitting metal armor and an angry _shhh_.

At least Garlan had the decency to turn away in embarrassment. Lucette would make sure that he was the one to check the lord for hidden weapons. Thoroughly.

 

“Tell your lord that he has to come in person if he wants to have his curse lifted. I have more important matters to attend to, so he would do well not to get cursed again afterwards.”

The woman kept her head down and nodded quickly before she bowed. Her lord would have to throw all of his coins at _Lucette_ if she saw– _anything_.

 

It felt like every other day she had another meeting with diplomats and nobles, and almost all ended with them asking for help. The reparations after the war were a long way from being finished, and the number of people lost in the war became more and more apparent.

No one was openly hostile, but she wondered how many of them wished for Genaro to return. Not even their beloved king could create gold out of thin air, however. And so she spent hours discussing every topic under the sun, though it all came back to money. Money and power. They wanted a ruler, her magic, her time, more festivities. They also wanted Genaro back, magic gone and for her to spend less gold on trivialities.

  


In the afternoon she visited Myth's office, to discuss the day's events and prepare for the next.

As usual she found Alcaster sitting in the chair opposite Myth, his legs crossed and preoccupied with letters sent to him. Both stood and bowed as she closed the door behind her, but the room stayed silent until she was ready to talk. It was strange that this ritual made her feel secure. Mother would have given her a pitying smile for the thought.

By now she had learned to tell whether the news would be good or bad. Alcaster started tapping his fingers on the tablet whenever he was tense or irritated. Neither Myth's posture nor expression showed much of a change, but due to the Tenebrarum she could feel his well-hidden anger. Today both seemed calm, and so they sat in silence for a while, reading and sorting through the ever-growing staples of documents.

 

“Is there anything I should see?” Lucette finally asked.

Myth handed her an envelope. “Lady Elis sent this.”  
  
Lucette studied the letter's seal, a circle with two vertical lines running through it and stopping just before the edge of the wax. The symbol was framed by elaborate vines. Her mind immediately jumped to her father, though the vines lacked the thorns that grew in front of his room. She pushed the thought aside and opened the envelope.   
  
"At least she can communicate properly in her letters," she said as she read. Elis had included not just official documents but drawings of the current building and the plans for its restoration, a list of possible classes and the witches who would teach them. She recognized none of them, so Myth would need to investigate.   
  
"She is surprisingly capable in written communication. She introduced herself by showing me a few recipes for potions I had not yet seen. Several of them had been created by her,” Myth said.   
That made Lucette raise a brow and he hastily added, “she contacted me not long before you met her. I didn't get the chance to try many of them.”   
  
Alcaster was still reading, but from the corner of her eye she saw him going stiff. His index finger started tapping lightly on the armrest.   
  
Myth leaned back in his chair. “No matter how we go about it, sooner or later people will hear of the plans to restore the mansion for magic users.”   
  
“If this was a school for fairies they would offer everything they have,” Lucette replied, “but no matter what they say, we will hurry. We need to make use of the next months before the weather makes a turn for the worse. Witches will be able to stop hiding.”   
  
Myth openly smiled at that. “I will invite her again so we can discuss everything at once.”   
  
Alcaster's tapping got louder. Lucette wasn't sure if he did it intentionally, but he needed to stop if he wanted to keep all his fingers.   
Myth spoke for her. “I sense that you have something to say, Sir Alcaster.” They exchanged glances.   


Alcaster frowned and shifted his weight forward. "What good will that school be? We don't have enough coin as it is, and nobody will agree to pay for witches."

Myth's quill stopped moving.

Lucette swallowed, but held his gaze. "Just as your knights come to this castle to train in swordplay, I will create a place for witches to learn magic. You cannot tell me that an army of trained magic users wouldn't be convenient."

She hid her satisfaction as Alcaster seemed to consider it. His next words knocked all air out of her. "I would gather them to burn them all at once."

 

Rage flared up inside her, both hers and Myth's, and the shapes of her surroundings became nauseatingly sharp. She gripped her chair's arm rests, taking a deep breath.

"What are you saying?" Myth asked. “Do you–“

"I am viewing this from the commoner's perspective," Alcaster cut him off, “and whether they are right or wrong won't matter once the fire is burning."

"Then we will hire guards under the guise of protecting the people from potential harm," Lucette interrupted their oncoming fight, holding her hand over her eyes as if she was simply irritated.

 

Alcaster's gaze traveled between Myth and her, and the silence stretched on for too long to be comfortable. At least her blood had time to stop boiling.

 

_Always stand your ground_ , Mother would have said.

 

“I noted your objection. That does not mean I will listen to it,” she finally spoke up again. “I won't risk the lives of all our men, so I will request some men from Whiteridge.” Hold yourself straight, look them in the eye and show them that you will never give in. You are the one in command. “I don't believe there is anything else to discuss.”

 

If he was angry, Alcaster didn't let it show. He slightly tilted his head as if to nod. “Lord Kestead won't refuse the queen unless he wants to risk another war. I will act at your orders.”

He rose and bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said, and with that he was gone.

 

The room fell quiet again. Lucette was the first to return to work.

Myth never complained about his tasks, though at one point she caught him stifling a yawn. His cheeks turned pink as their gazes met and he hastily reached for another pile of letters.

Next to his desk sat a box with discarded messages. About half of them were from supposed friends or long lost relatives. Myth had appointed several trusted servants to sort them out, along with pleas from commoners to lift various hexes.

 

The number of cursed humans was still growing, and most of them wanted her to solve their personal problems. Every one of them claimed to have been cursed out of sheer malice, that yet another evil witch had decided to hurt innocents. She had soon tired of them, too, and ordered to only collect the important ones. She suspected that only a few were cursed with anything other than a lack of wit.  
  
She let out a short sigh, causing Myth to look up. She used the chance to speak her mind. “You will be useless if you don't get enough sleep.”   
The face he made at her words almost made her smile, so she hid her face behind another letter.   
“Of course,” he said. After a short pause he added, “if I might give some advice to you, Your Majesty...”

She raised an eyebrow but did not object.

„I would be careful about appointing Varg as your personal guard,“ he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the paper in front of him as he signed another letter.  
  
„You brought him here for this exact reason, didn't you? I remember you saying that he wouldn’t cause problems.“ She managed to keep her voice steady and nonchalant.

Varg was neither a witch nor a fairy but he learned fast.

So far she had no reason to complain about his work, even with his penchant for punishing the men that got too distracted during watch. He apparently didn't mind the angry stares and mumbled curses he earned himself within a month of his arrival. Lucette did not care for their games, either way. It wouldn't hurt to keep the guards on their toes. Alcaster would intervene if anyone crossed the line.  
  
Myth furrowed his brows, choosing his words carefully. “Several complaints came after Varg's little display at the tournament. Lord Allard and Lady Bryant apparently left early because of the brutal treatment of his opponents.”   
  
“So what? Of course the losers would cry about it later. They entered the tournament of their own volition. Being hurt in a fight should not come as a surprise to anyone.”   
  
Myth pressed his fingertips together. “As for Sir Wysell himself... he said nothing of the fight itself, though I assume that his leg will take time to heal. He still returned to Bellfort on horseback.”   
  
“As long as he delivers the message. He hopefully took his dimwitted pet dog with him.”   
The town had a good doctor. He would be able to get help for his leg. She had seen worse injuries.   
  
That left only one topic.   
Lucette took a deep breath before she could force herself to get the words out. “And arrange a meeting with Lord Kestead. I will travel to Whiteridge.”   
  
In his defense, Myth did his best to hide his surprise. “For what reason?”   
  
She stood, too nervous to stay still, and stepped over to one of the bookshelves. She had browsed a lot of these books as a child, fascinated by the various drawings of castles and maps. Later on, once she had been taught to read, it had gotten a lot less fascinating. Her fingertip rested on the book about Angielle's northern lands.   
Lord Kestead was no king, but his province lay the farthest from her home and bordered on Brugantia's territory. His fort was the most important defense they had, and only Alcaster's militia could claim to be better trained than his.   
“If he refuses to come I will visit him and make sure he complies. And it cannot hurt to know a potential enemy's home.”   


 

* * *

 

 

It took Elis no more than a few days to travel to the palace.

 

Along with Elis arrived reports of a fight between witches and fairies that had ended with a burn injury and a destroyed house. Both Myth and Alcaster sent men to investigate, and by the time Lucette could greet her the sun had gone down and Varg was trailing behind her.

 

Lucette entered the room just in time to see Lady Elis shove a whole blueberry muffin into her mouth.

Elis spun around as Varg closed the door behind Lucette, a look of pure horror on her face. She made an attempt to speak, then apparently thought better of it and held one hand in front of her face.

Lucette did not do her the favor of averting her gaze until Elis had swallowed.

 

“I’m so very sorry, Your Majesty. I haven’t eaten all day and- and I...” the witch fell silent as Lucette raised her hand with a dismissive gesture. Instead she settled for a bow and an awkward smile.

 

Behind Elis Lucette could see Jurien and Garlan exchange glances. She almost wanted to defend herself for ever allowing this woman into the palace.

Instead she motioned for Elis to sit at the table she had taken the muffin from. Next to the food tray sat a worn leather book, along with loose notes and a flask filled with a clear liquid.

 

“We didn’t come here to hold a tea party so I will get to the point. We will proceed according to your plans. Once the reparations are done we will assign guards to patrol the grounds. That should keep the humans from bothering you.”

 

Elis smiled broadly, though Lucette was more interested in her guards’ reactions. Neither Jurien nor Garlan seemed to care for her words, however. Jurien stoically returned her gaze, Garlan was busy staring daggers at Varg.

 

“Oh, that won’t be a problem, Your Majesty! I can deal with them, and we won’t bother anyone, I promise you.”

 

Lucette thought she heard Varg huff softly somewhere behind her. Elis didn’t notice as she heaved the book into her lap.

 

“Sir Myth told me to bring all of my potion recipes. They’re a collection of everything my mother and I ever wrote down.”

Her expression shifted dangerously to something Lucette had no mind to handle, so she leaned forward to take the book, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

 

“This will be useful,” she said as she flipped through the pages. “You…” She didn’t quite know how to end her sentence, so she settled for “I will ask you if I have any questions.”

  


After that Lucette only listened with one ear.

Lucette raised an eyebrow as Elis peered at Varg for longer than a proper lady should have. Not that Elis was a proper lady in any sense of the word, but she blushed when he flashed her a sly grin and excused herself hastily.

 

She was barely out of the room when Vark spoke up. “It’s a good thing she’s just a dumb little girl, isn’t it?”

 

“Explain,” Lucette said, though she regretted her request as soon as it had left her mouth.

 

Varg rolled his shoulders. “Your guards were quite trusting, considering that she is a witch and brought her arsenal of potentially deadly items.” He turned towards Garlan. “If I was a witch you would be either cursed or dead by now. Didn't they teach you anything in that order of yours?”

 

“Even if I died Jurien would cut you down,” Garlan growled, taking a step between Jurien and Varg in spite of his words.

 

“Enough,” Lucette cut in, finally sick of their moronic fights. “I do not care for your private fights. If you think you need to kill each other do so when you are outside the castle.” She glared at each of them, Varg being the last. “Teach them if you must, but know that if Mother was here she would have cursed all of you long ago!”

  


With that she stormed off towards her chamber. Mother would have cursed Lucette herself if she had witnessed her outburst just now. She shook her head, clutching the tome to her chest.

She had more important matters to worry about.

 

* * *

  


Some nights she had dreams of flying. Those were good nights - always too short, but she took whatever rest her new life gave her. Othes ended with the dead haunting her even after waking.  
She saw her mother and a boy with brown hair and red eyes, stitching puppets with her, consoling her when she pricked her finger on a needle. The scene twisted her heart with both nostalgia and fear. It made no sense.   
One time she could have sworn it was Fritz turning around the corner and her feet set into motion before she could think. Of course she had found nothing but an empty hallway.   
  
As a little girl Lucette had sometimes left the bed after such nightmares, tiptoed past Genaro's door to her mother's chamber. Some nights Hildyr had smiled and let her crawl under the covers, petting her hair until Lucette fell asleep. Most nights she had said “a queen does not cry” or “you are too strong to be scared” and sent her back.   
One time she had seen another man in her bed, so she had silently made her way back to her own room and muffled her cries until the morning came. Of course her mother had known, and so Lucette had been taught about influencing and using every available method to gain an advantage.   
And all the while Lucette had held her tears in. She hadn't wanted to do that, or suffocate birds, or keep quiet when stupid people spouted nonsense.   
She had grown up since then. Still, they would not get her to smile for them.   
  


Some nights, when the castle was quiet and sleep would not find her, Lucette visited the place that kept the Tenebrarum safe. It was beautiful, its power calling to her, calming and exciting her at the same time. It muted the noise from outside the castle walls. She didn't need to touch it to feel the magic simmering below the surface. It gave her strength to continue.

Lucette was on her way back to her bedroom when she overheard Alcaster growling orders to someone. That by itself was a normal occurrence. He never attempted to lower his voice, but something about it - and at this hour, no less - made her turn right and follow the corridor leading to the knights' quarters.

 

"I have not forgotten Wysell. Don't believe for a moment that you can't be replaced. If you don't follow orders someone else will. Remember why you were chosen."

 

The humorless laugh that answered was definitely Varg's.

 

"Because I am your favorite–"

 

A slap echoed through the hall. Lucette held her breath.

A queen did not hide from her own servants or sneaked through her own home, so she straightened her back. She would demand an explanation and stop whatever was unfolding right in front of her.

Her feet would not move.

 

"I will not repeat myself."

 

Alcaster's heavy steps trailed off towards a different exit and Lucette breathed out.

There was no reason to worry. Alcaster had every right to reprimand his fellow knights, and nothing about the conversation sounded conspiratorial.

Besides, Alcaster would not be foolish enough to openly talk about treachery inside her own castle.

He approved of her rule, even if she was not her mother.

Lucette knew it.

She also knew Varg well enough to know that he was aware of her presence. This was the first time he ignored her.

She should have stopped the conversation sooner, asked Alcaster just what he had been talking about. Maybe it had been a mere warning. Mother had often said that she kept distracting herself with unimportant matters.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Varg.

 

"Your Majesty." It came out more like a snarl than an honorific.   
  
Lucette raised her chin and strode into view. "What happened here?"

 

He fixed his necktie with unhurried movements, and when he finally returned her gaze he had gone back to his usual smile. "And here I had thought the queen knew everything that her lackeys were doing." He tilted his head, the bruised side now facing away from her.

 

"I certainly do not know what you are doing, seeing that Alcaster had reason enough to hit you."

 

"Yet you ask me, the one you don't trust?"

 

Conversing with him was impossible.

 

"I could ignore your excuse and ask Alcaster directly, if you prefer."

 

His smile vanished and the hand around his cane tightened. "So you trust the man who cannot even tell you where his own son ran off to?"

 

He was lucky she didn't strike him. He had no reason to know of Fritz.

 

"Enough. If you dare question me again I will make sure you follow him, wherever he is," she hissed. "You are here to fight, not to lecture your queen."

 

Varg simply looked at her, now without a trace of emotion. She opened her mouth to speak, but he swiftly bowed and turned on his heel.  
  
“Come back.”   
  
Her order surprised both of them. Varg froze.   
  
“I decide when this conversation is over,” Lucette said, her voice sounding more assured than she felt.   
  
There was a barely audible sigh before he moved back to face her.   
Before Varg could say another word, before she could think better of it, she stepped up to him and touched his mask. “Who are you?”   
  
For a second there was hatred in his eyes, and if she had been someone else she would have flinched. She was not, so she gripped each side and stared back. “Remove your mask.”   
Golden eyes stared down at her, full of defiance and something else she could not name. _Make me_ , they said.   
Lucette would not grant him the favor of proving him right. She let go.   
  
“How can I trust you if you don't even show your face to me?”   
  
Varg sneered. “Are you admitting that you are able to trust?”

 

He didn't add me, but she heard it anyway. She flicked her hand to the right and sent a gust of air towards Varg. The movement was more forceful than intended, but Varg stayed on his feet as he stumbled back. Lucette stormed past him before he could see her flushed cheeks.

 

She never knew whether she wanted to punch or impress him.

 

* * *

  


Summer came and went by in the blink of an eye. Now the heavy rain drumming on the windows became a more frequent sight, and more often than not Lucette cursed the fact that a dress was far less suited for cold weather than what her male servants were wearing.

Still Lucette and Myth practiced in the gardens whenever their schedules allowed for it.

At times Varg joined them to watch. In the beginning he had only come after nightfall, though as the year had progressed he'd appeared earlier and earlier. He never asked to join but Lucette felt his eyes on her as they conjured elemental spells, barriers, portals. She still wasn't sure if he truly respected her, or anyone else, for that matter. He certainly didn't have much love for Myth, however.

Myth rarely made mistakes even if he had no chance against her, but one time he almost fell as he dodged one of her attacks.  
Varg clapped his hands in mock amazement. The next second he jumped back with a grin, barely escaping the ball of fire hurled at him.   
It smelled like singed hair.   
  
Lucette banned Varg from the courtyard before they decided to practice killing each other.   
  
  
By now it had become normal for her and Myth to take their time after training. They usually didn't talk, just waited for their pulses to stop racing, and maybe to pretend they did not have a whole kingdom to return to.   
  
"I will depart in a week."   
If he picked up on her hesitation, he didn't show it.   
“Varg will come with me.”   
She didn't so much see as she felt his discomfort.   
“I am very much capable of controlling him, Myth.” She didn't really have to explain herself to him, but his dislike for the man he himself had introduced was starting to irk her.   
  
Myth seemed to notice, as he bowed his head and murmured, “of course, Your Majesty.”   
  
Lucette still wasn't sure if she preferred this new Myth to who he had been before Hildyr's death. He had stuck to her mother as if his life depended on it, though that wasn't out of the realm of possibility. One day he had just been there, a scrawny boy with an impassive expression and dirty clothes, like a puppy found on the streets. He'd refused to talk to her at first, just switched between looking at the ground and angrily staring at whoever tried to converse with him. Lucette had been perfectly fine with it, but Hildyr had changed that very quickly.   


Mother had rarely left the castle – at least officially. She hadn't needed to. The name Hildyr had been known beyond Angielle's borders even before her marriage to the king.

 

Lucette had watched her conjure portals now and then, though her mother had seldom shared her destination. Even Hildyr could only travel to places she knew and had been to before, and Lucette barely knew anything but the palace. Back then Lucette had been less interested in Hildyr's plans than her casual creation of portals, though she never said as much. It had taken her years to do the same, and once she finally had opened a stable gateway she had been too afraid to step through.

 

Even now using them was something she pushed to the corner of her mind; yet another thing she avoided. Like visiting Genaro's chamber, or talking to people for a moment longer than she needed to.

 

But Mother...

 

“Mother could have used a portal.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

 

Myth flinched, but she was sick of the never-ending silences. He would not slink away this time. "Tell me," she ordered.

He sank back onto the stone bench, staring straight ahead.  
"Some witches turned against her."   
“I know that much. Do you have names?”   
“Waltz.” Myth practically spat the name.   
“Who was he?” she asked, but Myth didn't answer, only grabbed a fistful of hair with one hand while covering his eyes with the other.   
  
Her breath hitched and her mouth went dry. Lucette knew what was happening, but she couldn't stop it, _he couldn't stop it, it hadn't been supposed to go this way; she had been supposed to survive but there she was, still warm to the touch, and still he tried to save her, and –_   
  
"I almost made it."   
  
"But you didn't."   
It had not been meant as an accusation, simply a fact. It was too late to take it back.

  
They sat in silence for a long time.

  
Again Lucette was the first to speak. “I expect to come home to an intact castle.”

To her surprise Myth managed to give her a small smile. “Anything for you, Your Majesty.”

This time she believed him.

They needed each other, even if only for their shared memories of Hildyr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to "this alternate timeline changed so much more than i ever expected or planned - the fic"  
> I must have been high when I first wanted to wrap this AU up in one chapter.
> 
> If anything in this chapter - including the characterization - confuses you I'll be happy to explain. Feedback is appreciated, as always.


	4. Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art I drew for the story, doesn't contain spoilers for now.

This was started at the same time I posted the first chapter, maybe even sooner. You can see the image in full size [here](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/intermediary/f/c5ad66d8-0634-4442-8c05-51d48cafded3/dcpqskm-80202463-718e-45f6-b019-269158a0259e.png/v1/fill/w_1600,h_2188,q_80,strp/ascension_cover_by_dazedog_dcpqskm-fullview.jpg).

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was started months ago, around the time Wolfbann had just been completed. I simply couldn't ignore the question what might have happened if Lucette had spent a little more time with her mother. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but then my ideas kept coming and turned into this.  
> It's been a while since I wrote anything just by myself, so the style might not be perfect. Please throw any suggestions you might have at me, I appreciate any comment.
> 
> This fanfic has an illustration that goes along with it (and will have one for the last chapter as well). You can see it and my other CP fanart over on my blog at https://dazelikesmm.tumblr.com
> 
> Happy New Year to all of you!


End file.
